


stay and the night could be enough

by emi_rose



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Background Magcretia, Gen, Suicide, oodles of grief, seriously this made WDA yell at me for how sad it is, this is the darkest timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:45:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12234066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emi_rose/pseuds/emi_rose
Summary: Lucretia is not forgiven. He wishes she'd stayed.





	stay and the night could be enough

[“Magnus - I’m sorry ---” Lucretia attempts to break the silence with a whisper, and Magnus whirls to face her, incandescent in fury. 

“You don’t get to be sorry anymore. I can forgive a lot, but I -- I can’t forgive this.” He bites off the last word as he reaches the door, and slams it shut with heavy finality. ]

The revocation of his forgiveness hardens something in her, something that’s been germinating for the decade since he walked in on her with Fisher. Now that her worst fears have been realized, nothing can hurt her, and she has nothing left to do.

“You’ll be better off without me,” she writes, hand steady as ever, sure that she has made too many mistakes to ever be forgiven. 

She slips away in the night. Her death, like everything in her life, is meticulously planned. She disguises herself, charms her way into getting enough poppies at the apothecary’s to make it swift and gentle - she deserves that, at least. She lingers, considering if the violent, messy death of belladonna is one that will absolve her of her sins, world slipping away in a haze of delirium and her heart beating itself out of her chest, eyes blown wide. No, that won’t do, and neither will the ordeal bean, aptly named - she certainly deserves to be paralyzed with every nerve set on fire, but the risk of it not working is too great.

Satchel of precious poppy heads in hand, Lucretia sets out from the town, feeling at peace with herself for the first time in more than a decade. As she walks, she catalogs her sins, more methodical than the judges she escaped. She idly hopes that Magnus’s contempt runs so deep that she’s not afforded a funeral she doesn’t deserve. She has been so careful in her disguise and her movements, no one will find her - and no one will miss her. Of this, she is certain.

Meticulous to the end, Lucretia leaves nothing to chance. She walks the perimeter of the one-room abandoned cabin, casting wards through her staff for the last time. It’s served her well, she thinks, what with saving the world. Its work is done, as is hers. She counts the seed-pods again, making sure she has all she needs. She’s bought enough to kill a large mammal, which should be more than enough for her. The tea doesn’t go down easy; it’s bitter and strong, and she’s decided that she doesn’t get sugar, that the easy quiet death of poppies is more than enough mercy.

Before the morphine gets to her brain, she places the cup gently on the side-table. Her staff is at her side, her disguise falls, and she begins to slip away. It is, as promised, quiet. Her world goes dark around the edges, the pain and regrets dulled, and she sleeps, dark and true. 

When her soul alights in the Astral Plane, she is grateful that Istus’s deal with the Raven Queen still stands, and she merges with the shimmering sea of souls, grateful that those she killed with her good intentions cannot recognize her here. 

Angus finds her note on her desk in the morning, and the scream that tears out of him is inhuman. He’s smart enough to know exactly what it means, and he knows his mother well enough to know she wouldn’t make mistakes. She was already gone, and he sinks to the floor in a daze. Magnus hears him, the sound like a mortally wounded animal, visceral knowledge of Lucretia’s death hitting him before he can form the thought. His emotions coagulate somewhere south of his diaphragm, forming a taut ball of regret. 

In one of the dozens of sleepless nights that follow, Magnus realizes that she never died first. She was always the one grieving him for days that stretched into months, because he made some bone-headed decision that killed him. This time was no different, he supposes, except that his impulsive barb killed her, and there was no tapestry of silver to weave them back together, to let them try again. 

At her funeral, forgiveness is paramount, and Magnus holds Angus tight, seeing Lucretia in their son’s face. And as he grows older, the resemblance only grows more pronounced, causing a frisson of pain down Magnus’s spine. It never stops hurting.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the darkest timeline ending to stay (faraway so close). I think I had some Stuff to work out.


End file.
